THE OWL AND ITS ASSOCIATIONS.
As Jove assumed the shape of an Eagle, so Juno selected that of an Owl,
for, as Aldrovandus tells us, it was not decorous that the queen of
heaven should take on herself the likeness of any small or vulgar bird,
but rather that she should be embodied in one whose reign by night was
equal with that of the eagle by day. The owl has usually been regarded
as a bird of ill omen, and superstitiously considered a messenger of
woe. The Athenians alone among the ancients seem to have been free from
this popular prejudice, and to have regarded the owl with veneration
rather than abhorrence, considering it as the favourite of Minerva, and
the image of wisdom. The Romans viewed the owl with detestation and
dread. By them it was held sacred to Proserpine: its appearance
foreboded unfortunate events, and, according to Pliny, the city of Rome
underwent a solemn lustration in consequence of an owl having
accidentally strayed into the Capitol.
[Sidenote: ITS USE IN MEDICINE.]
In the ancient pharmacopœia, which savoured not a little of magic, the
owl appears to have been “great medicine.” Ovid tells us that this bird
was used wholesale in the composition of Medea’s gruel:--
“Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas.”
While, according to Horace, the old witch Canidia made use of the
feathers in her incantations:--
“Plumamque nocturnæ strigis.”
[Sidenote: A BIRD OF ILL OMEN.]
The “owlet’s wing” was an ingredient of the cauldron wherein the witches
prepared their “charm of powerful trouble” (_Macbeth_, Act iv. Sc. 1);
and, with the character assigned to it by the ancients, Shakespeare, no
doubt, felt that the introduction of an owl in a dreadful scene of a
tragedy would help to make the subject come home more forcibly to the
people, who had, from early times, associated its presence with
melancholy, misfortune, and death. Accordingly, we find the unfortunate
owl stigmatized at various times as the “obscure,” “ominous,” “fearful,”
and “fatal” “bird of night.” Its doleful cry pierces the ear of Lady
Macbeth while the murder is being done:--
“Hark!--Peace! It was the owl that shriek’d,
The fatal bellman which gives the stern’st good night.”
_Macbeth_, Act ii. Sc. 1.
And when the murderer rushes in immediately afterwards, exclaiming,--
“I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?”
She replies,--
“I heard the owl scream.”
And later on--
“The _obscure bird_ clamour’d the live-long night.”
_Macbeth_, Act ii. Sc. 2.
The awe, no doubt, with which this bird is regarded by the
superstitious, may be attributed in some measure to the fact of its
flying by night.
“Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
* * * * *
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl.”
_Henry VI._ Part II. Act i. Sc. 4.
And yet, strange to say, the appearance of an owl by day is by some
considered equally ominous:--
“The owl by day,
If he arise, is mocked and wondered at.”
_Henry VI._ Part III. Act v. Sc. 4.
“For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing.”
_Richard II._ Act iii. Sc. 3.
[Sidenote: ITS HABITS MISUNDERSTOOD.]
Should an owl appear at a birth it is said to forbode ill-luck to the
infant. King Henry VI., addressing Gloster, says,--
“The owl shriek’d at thy birth, an evil sign.”
_Henry VI._ Part III. Act v. Sc. 6.
While upon any other occasion its presence was supposed to predict a
death, or at least some dire mishap:--
“The screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.”
_Midsummer Night’s Dream_, Act v. Sc. 2.
When Richard III. is irritated by the ill-news showered thick upon him,
he interrupts the third messenger with--
“Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death?”
_Richard III._ Act iv. Sc. 4.
It is curious how wide-spread is the superstition regarding certain
birds, and particularly the owl. Even amongst the Land Dayaks of Borneo,
the owl is considered a bird of ill omen. Mr. Spenser St. John, in his
“Life in the Forests of the Far East,” observes with regard to omens
(vol. i. p. 202):--
“If a man be going on a war expedition, and has a slip during his
first day’s journey, he must return to his village, especially if by
the accident blood be drawn, for then, should he proceed, he has no
prospect but wounds or death. If the accident occur during a long
expedition, he must return to his last night’s resting place. In
some tribes, if a deer cry near a party who are setting out on a
journey, they will return. When going out at night to the jungle, if
the scream of a hawk, or an owl, or of a small kind of frog be
heard, it is a sign that sickness will follow if the design be
pursued; and again, if the screech of the two former be heard in
front of a party on the warpath, it is an evil sign, and they must
return. Omens derived from the cry of birds are always sought
previously to setting out on a journey, and before fixing on a spot
to build new houses, or to prepare their farms.”
[Sidenote: ITS UTILITY TO THE FARMER.]
Far from bringing any ill-luck to our dwellings, owls are really of the
greatest service to us in destroying great numbers of vermin. A Swiss
naturalist, speaking of the quantity of field-voles which are annually
destroyed by owls and buzzards, says:[56]--
“C’est un fait curieux que l’homme s’acharne tout particulièrement à
detruire ses meillures amis, et qu’il poursuive de ses malédictions
les êtres qui le servent le mieux. Je joindrai donc ma faible voix à
celle de bien d’autres naturalistes pour demander que l’on protége
les premières de ces bêtes.
“Les hibous et les chouettes, bien loin de jeter de mauvais sorts
sur nos demeures, prennent au contraire, un grand soin de nos
intérêts. Ces oiseaux exterminent, en effet, bien plus de souris que
n’en pourront prendre jamais les meilleurs taupiers. Les buses n’ont
nullement mérité leur place sur la porte de nos granges, et plutôt
que de les tuer, l’on ferait bien mieux d’établir chez nous, comme
cela s’est fait avec succès dans certaines localités, de hauts
perchoirs dans nos campagnes pour attirer ces oiseaux bienfaisants.”
[Sidenote: A CURIOUS TRADITION.]
Among the many curious legends which exist with reference to this bird,
we may mention one to which Shakespeare has alluded in Hamlet:--
“They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.”
_Hamlet_, Act iv. Sc. 5.
Mr. Staunton, in his edition of Shakespeare’s Plays, says this has
reference to a tradition still current in some parts of England. “Our
Saviour went into a baker’s shop where they were baking, and asked for
some bread to eat. The mistress of the shop immediately put a piece of
dough into the oven to bake for him, but was reprimanded by her
daughter, who, insisting that the piece of dough was too large, reduced
it considerably in size. The dough, however, immediately afterwards
began to swell, and presently became of an enormous size. Whereupon the
baker’s daughter cried out, ‘Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh!’ which owl-like
noise, it is said, probably induced our Saviour, for her wickedness, to
transform her into that bird.”
Mr. Douce represents this story as still current amongst the common
people in Gloucestershire.[57] According to Nuttall, the north country
nurses would have it that the owl was a daughter of Pharaoh, and when
they heard it hoot on a winter’s night, they sang to the wondering
child--
“Oh! ŏ ŏ ŏ, ō ō;
I once was a king’s daughter, and sat on my father’s knee,
But now I’m a poor hoolet, and hide in a hollow tree.”
There is much difference of opinion amongst naturalists as to whether
the power of hooting and shrieking is possessed by the same species. In
the following passage from _Julius Cæsar_ (Act i. Sc. 3), both sounds
are attributed to the same bird:--
“Yesterday the _bird of night_ did sit,
Even at noonday, upon the market-place,
Hooting and shrieking.”
It is generally supposed that the common barn or white owl does not
hoot, but only shrieks, and is, in fact, the bird always alluded to as
the “screech-owl,” while the brown owls (_Strix otus_, _brachyotus_, and
_aluco_) are the hooters--
“The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots.”
_Midsummer Night’s Dream_, Act ii. Sc. 2.
But Mr. Colquhoun, speaking of the white or barn owl, says,[58] “It does
hoot, but very rarely. I heard one six times in succession, and then it
ceased.” Sir William Jardine once shot a white owl in the act of
hooting; and Mr. Boulton, of Beverley, Yorkshire, describes[59] the note
of one of these birds which he had reared from the nest, and kept in
confinement for fifteen months, as follows:--“It does hoot exactly like
the long-eared owl, but not so frequently. I use the term ‘hoot’ in
contradistinction to ‘screech,’ which it often does when irritated.”
[Sidenote: NOTE OF THE OWL.]
In Gardiner’s “Music of Nature” the note of the brown owl is thus
rendered:--
[Music]
Mr. Colquhoun, to whom allusion has just been made, says, that the music
of the white or barn owl is a little different from that of the brown
owls. It is only one prolonged cadence, lower and not so mournful as
that of the tawny fellow.
It would appear that owls do not keep to one note. A friend of Gilbert
White’s remarked that most of his owls hooted in B flat, but that one
went almost half a note below A. The pipe by which he tried their notes
was a common half-crown pitchpipe. A neighbour, also, of the Selborne
naturalist, who was said to have a nice ear, remarked that the owls
about Selborne hooted in three different keys: in G flat (or F sharp),
in B flat, and A flat. He heard two hooting to each other, the one in A
flat, the other in B flat.
It did not appear, however, whether the sounds proceeded from different
species of brown owls, or from different individuals of the same
species.
[Sidenote: AN OWL ROBBING NESTS.]
Another question in the life-history of the owl is raised by the
following passage from _Macbeth_ (Act iv. Sc. 2):--
“For the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.”
This defence of their young by birds has often been noticed by
Shakespeare:--
“Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
Which sometimes they have us’d with fearful flight)
Make war with him that climb’d unto their nest,
Off’ring their own lives in their young’s defence?”
_Henry VI._ Part III. Act ii. Sc. 2.
[Sidenote: EVIDENCE NOT CONCLUSIVE.]
We are not aware, however, that an owl has ever been caught in the act
of robbing a nest, and, indeed, it would not be easy to detect him, from
the fact of his preying by night. Nevertheless, there is presumptive
evidence to support the charge. A writer in _The Field_, of 29th June,
1867, says:--“Standing in my garden in Bedford Park, Croydon, an
evening or two since, I saw a white owl fly to a sparrow’s nest lodged
on a water-spout under the roof of the house, and as though that visit
was not successful, he repeated it, and then went to a nest on the next
house, in the same way. It was too dark for me to see if he succeeded in
his marauding expedition against the poor sparrows. Is it a common
occurrence for an owl to go robbing nests? I never saw it done before,
though I have lived all my life in the country, and of course seen this
favourite bird skimming over the water meadows for its supper.” To this
communication the editor adds the following note:--“This fact is
extremely interesting, and, we think, generally unknown. It would,
however, have added much to the interest, had the robbery actually been
proved; it does not seem quite certain that this was the owl’s object in
visiting the roof.”
[Sidenote: ITS CHARACTER MALIGNED.]
Some years ago, having made the discovery that some stock-doves were
building in the wooden spire of our village church, we commissioned the
parish clerk to secure a pair of young birds as soon as they were ready
to fly. He made several attempts for this purpose, paying occasional
visits to see how the young birds were getting on, when, on going to the
nest, as he supposed for the last time, to carry them off, he found it
empty. This happened three or four times, and he was much puzzled to
account for it. The birds could not have flown--they were not old
enough. No one else could have taken them, for the church could not be
entered without the key, which he always kept. Had rats carried them
off? The clerk said there were none. Had there been any, he must have
heard or seen them on one or other of his many visits to the church, or
at least have found signs of their presence. But this was never the
case. He stated, however, that a pair of barn owls lived in the same
spire, and he thought that they were the culprits, taking the young
ones, as he said, as soon as they were fat enough, to save themselves
the trouble of hunting out of doors. Be this as it may, we feel bound to
say, on behalf of the owls, they were never caught in the fact, and that
the parent stock-doves were not deterred from laying again and again,
and at length rearing a brood. Charles Waterton, whose name will be
familiar to all naturalists, argues strongly against the notion of the
barn owl robbing dove-cotes. He says[60]:--“When farmers complain that
the barn owl destroys the eggs of their pigeons, they lay the saddle on
the wrong horse. They ought to put it on the rat.
“Formerly, I could get very few young pigeons till the rats were
excluded effectually from the dove-cot. Since that took place, it has
produced a great abundance every year, though the barn owls frequent it,
and are encouraged all around it. The barn owl merely resorts to it for
repose and concealment. If it were really an enemy to the dove-cot, we
should see the pigeons in commotion as soon as it begins its evening
flight, but the pigeons heed it not; whereas if the sparrowhawk or hobby
should make its appearance, the whole community would be up at
once--proof sufficient that the barn owl is not looked upon as a bad or
even a suspicious character by the inhabitants of the dove-cot.”
[Sidenote: ITS RETIRING HABITS.]
Its habit of breeding in retired situations is alluded to in _Titus
Andronicus_, Act ii. Sc. 3:--
“Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl.”
And Shakespeare has truly characterized the appearance of this bird on
the wing, when he speaks of
“The night-owl’s lazy flight.”
_Henry VI._ Part III. Act ii. Sc. 1.
[Sidenote: ITS FIVE WITS.]
Why the owl has been called the “bird of wisdom” it is not easy to
determine. Possibly because it can see in the dark, and is the only bird
which looks straightforward. Shakespeare frequently alludes to its “five
wits,” and the readers of Tennyson’s poems will no doubt remember the
lines:--
“Alone, and warming his _five wits_,
The white owl in the belfry sits.”
With our early writers the five senses appear to have been generally
called the “five wits.” Chaucer, in the “Parsone’s Tale,”
says:--“Certes delites been after the appetites of the ‘five wittes;’ as
sight, hereing, smelling, savouring, and touching.” But it is not clear
how this proverbial phrase became connected with the owl, nor what is
the origin of “warming” the wits.
“_Petruchio._ Am I not _wise_?
_Katharine._ Yes, keep you _warm_.”
_Taming of the Shrew_, Act ii. Sc. 1.
“If he have _wit_ enough to keep himself _warm_.”
_Much Ado_, Act i. Sc. 1.
“Bless thy _five wits_.”
_King Lear_, Act iii. Sc. 4, and Act iii. Sc. 6.
[Sidenote: ITS FAME IN SONG.]
The allusion above made to Tennyson’s well-known poem, reminds us of the
quaint and characteristic song in the last scene of _Love’s Labour’s
Lost_:--
III.
“When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipp’d, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
IV.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.”
Nor do we forget Ariel’s song in _The Tempest_ (Act v. Sc. 1)--
“Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;
In a cowslip’s bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry.”
Amongst the fairies, at least, the owl seems to have found friends, and
is generally represented as a companion in their moonlight gambols:--
“This is the fairy land!--O, spite of spites!--
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites.”
_Comedy of Errors_, Act ii. Sc. 2.
The folio of 1623 omits “elvish,” but the folio of 1632 has “elves,”
which Rowe changed to “elvish.”
[Sidenote: ITS COMRADES.]
The following quotation we have some hesitation in introducing, for
there appears to be a difference of reading, which quite alters the
sense:--
“No, rather, I abjure all roofs, and choose
* * * * *
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,--
Necessity’s sharp pinch.”
_King Lear_, Act ii. Sc. 4.
Mr. Collier, taking into consideration the last line, reads:--
“To be a comrade with the wolf, and howl
Necessity’s sharp pinch.”
And this seems more likely to be the correct reading. Albeit, in support
of the former version, the following passage in _Lucrece_ has been
adduced:--
“No noise but owls’ and wolves’ death-boding cries.”
It is not to be supposed that Shakespeare was always a firm believer in
the popular notions respecting animals and birds to which he has made
allusion. In many cases he had a particular motive in introducing such
notions, although possibly aware of their erroneous nature, and he
evidently adopted them only to impart an air of reality to the scenes
which he depicted, and to bring them home more forcibly to the
impressionable minds of his auditors, to whom such “folks-lore” would be
familiar. This is notably the case as regards the owl, and no one can
read the first scene in the second act of _Macbeth_, or the fourth scene
in the first act of _Henry VI._ (Part II.), without feeling the
impressive effect produced by the introduction of a bird which is held
in such detestation by the ignorant, but which naturalists have shown to
be not only harmless, but useful.
[Sidenote: THE OWL’S GOOD NIGHT.]
But--
“The owl, night’s herald, shrieks,--’tis very late.”
_Venus and Adonis._
And, therefore, with Boyet, in _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ (Act iv. Sc. 1),
we will say:--
“Good night, my good owl.”
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